


Yooran Week prompts

by CannibalKats



Series: Catalyst [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Child Abuse, Drug Use, M/M, Mint Eye
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:17:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannibalKats/pseuds/CannibalKats
Summary: It's Yooran week, so I'll be posting anything I write for it here, these will all be connected to my fic Catalyst.





	1. Day 4 Prompt: Mint Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Just an update if you're seeing this and are wondering where this weeks usual updates are I am really sorry, I'm dealing with some pretty terrible computer issues and this was all written from my daughter's laptop. I may have lost a lot of work for my in-progress fics, hopefully I'll know by monday how bad this is. Sorry.

Saeran had been watching them for almost as long as he could remember.  Before wasn’t real. Not anymore.  Mother and Saeyoung, pain and loss and _she_ had come.  Then there had been Jisu and school and people who’d loved him but it had been fake. 

Time had started when she had come in the middle of the night, no longer the smiling woman with the golden hair, no longer his angel who’d given him life.  She’d snatched them from their beds in the dark and the people he thought had cared for them smiled and thanked her.  Her eyes were manic, her hair was dull and greasy and she was damp and smelled bad.

She’d put them in the cage together, until her lies were truths and the time before was just a dream, a thing to happened to someone else, and he was no one. Unknown

They’d been kept together at first, the scared little girl who’d lived in that house with him, but she was easier than him, she’d had nothing before him and she was more than eager to please the frightening woman with the harsh green eyes.  She’d called her _little peach_ and she’d melted.  She’d been taken and fed.

He took much longer, there were more drugs, more names, no sweet names.  She wanted him to be no one, wanted him alone and abandoned and broken.  She wanted him mean, and he’d seen that person in his mother, he’d seen kindness in his brother.  But starving and ready to die he had surrendered his name, surrendered his life.  He was Unknown, a ghost, a nameless junk yard dog, and Savior held the leash.

At first she’d kept him in her rooms, a soft bed on the floor like a pet and the pretty girl with the pretty dresses and soft eyes would sometimes sit with him, pet his head, sneak him the scraps from her table.  They’d been caught once and Savior had scolded her and beat him.

But as he learned, as he made himself useful she’d praised him.  She held tight to his leash but as he grew, and learned to make himself hard she would give him slack.

The people of Mint Eye feared him.  He was unknown and he was dangerous.

His only job, the one that mattered was to watch the RFA, to keep tabs on them all.  He knew them better than they knew themselves, certainly better than they knew one another and he had his favorites.   

There was heir, the sad dogs best friend who thought he was so smart but was so easily misled, who thought he was so cold when he was just a sad man with a cat.  He liked to watch him in the evenings, when he’d look through photo albums and convince himself he wasn’t alone.

He liked to watch the actor, with his fragile ego mask.  He was boring compared to the heir, going to work coming home, drinking alone, but sometimes he cried.  He liked to see the pretty man with all the fans cry into his beer, afraid of dying alone.

But his favorite was the boy with the purple eyes.  The sad, kind boy who thought he knew so much about _her_.  He liked to watch him most of all.  Sometimes he would argue with the sad blue dog and he would laugh.  The boy was smart, and for a time, before she’d gone to collect her sad dog, the boy was the only one who suspected she could be alive.

The happy boy who was so sad, the happy boy who would break things in fits of rage when he was alone with his games, the kind boy who could ruin someone’s day if they made one wrong move in a made up world.  He liked that boy.  He watched him more than anyone else.  He’d even played that game once just to ruin his day and hear him scream at him. 

He likes his place here, in Mint Eye, he likes the fear in the eyes of the people who inhabit the castle when he makes his way through the halls.  They way they whisper _big man_ and cower.  The way it had started as a joke, the smallest of her inner circle couldn’t be _that_ dangerous, could he?  But he was and he’d proved it time and again until even the most intimidating people she could find had trouble making eye contact.

Savior and her Peach are waiting in the server room, and all his hard work is about to come to fruition.  Peach will get her name back, she’ll get a life and a job and then when Savior is ready she’ll help him deliver the RFA.  This is step one. 

Savior watches him teach her their names, he can see her stern face and narrowed eyes and the subtle quirk of her eyebrow when he hesitates for a split second as he pulls up the file for Yoosung Kim.  Her chilling smile as she leaves them there to study in peace.

He remembers her face when he enters her private rooms, the echo of her Peach, _can I have him_.

He doesn’t mean to growl, doesn’t realize he had until her ring tears his cheek with the impact, Savior still smiling that terrifying smile and her Peach’s tinkering laughter.

He doesn’t reach for the wound, doesn’t poke at it with his tongue, he only waits as she smiles between them.

“I’ve thought of a lively game she says,” in a sing song voice that reminds him of than man who should have been his brother.

The pretty girl with the soft eyes who got to be Jisu again smiled and clapped her hands.  “I love your games,” she coos.

He liked to see her smile, that genuine smile that touched her eyes.  The opposite of Savior.  It reminded him of the boy with the purple eyes.

“This is the best one yet,” Savior chirps.  He hates this voice, the smiling Madonna figure she plays sometimes, he hates that _this_ Savior is not for him.  His savior is the cold dead eyes behind the smile, that pierce him to the place his soul would be if he were a person.

He would die for her, and he knows he may have to, he knows she asked it of others.  He knows the Sad Blue Dog will get to die for her one day.

“I want the two of you to work together,” she says grasping both of their hands together between hers, “you’ll bring me the RFA, you’ll bring me those failures and traitors and we’ll show them paradise.”

It’s a lie in a way, they would work simultaneously but not together.  He would watch and she would play.  Savior had been telling him the plan for months now, as he laid the ground work, began to unravel Luciel’s defenses.  Savior had also told him, should they need it, the Peach could be crushed to bring them here.

He watches her face light up, excited to finally have a purpose.

“I don’t care which of you delivers them to me,” she sings letting them go and turning dramatically so that her robes flare out and she looks almost girlish.  “And as incentive,” his ears perk up.  He’d never been give more than a meal or his usual dose, sometimes an extra communion should he go above and beyond in his daily task. “Yoosung is dear to me, but if one of you delivers me the RFA without the help of the other, you can keep him as your prize.”

Big brown eyes light up and she nods.  She’s only bait but she doesn’t know that, she could die for the cause, he life could be in his hands but _she_ doesn’t know that.  The little peach thinks the game is fair, thinks the odds are even.  She trusts her charms and her training and her ability to be a person.

She has no idea the game is rigged, that fairness depends on how _he_ decides to play.  But Savior knows, and she smiles and and twirls and coos with her Peach.  Her cold eyes trained on him, she knows the game depends on him.

 

 


	2. Day Five: Strawberry festival

Saeran doesn’t know why he’s here.  He doesn’t like crowds, there’s too much noise and despite the fact that everyone with him is all bare arms and sundresses he’s bundled tight in his boyfriend’s stupid blue sweater listening to a multitude of strangers coo behind their hands about how cute they are.

He’s not a fan of this.

But he is a fan of that look on Yoosung’s face.  That bright smile that lands on him like a sunbeam and warms him to his very core.  If he had to suffer the chill that accompanied his anxiety in front of all these people at least Yoosung got to feel like _his_ protector in front of his family.

The Kim’s were an overwhelming group of people to begin with, just the fact that there were _so_ _many_ of them.  They used any excuse to come together in a group, all rancorous laughter, camera flashes, and little childish squeals.

Tiny hands tug at his borrowed sweater, occasionally he’s greeted by a surprised red smeared face when he looks down.  A small person expecting their cousin in his signature sweater and not the surly boyfriend, but none of these kids were afraid of him.

There’s been a little hand in his for the last half hour, as he trails behind the Kim family from booth to booth.  He’s found a kinship in Yoosung’s oldest niece, who seems as uncomfortable with the crowd as him.  She shakes her head and holds tight to his hand when Yuna calls her name from the centre of the crowd and he watches Yoosung jog towards him from the front of the group.

“I brought you an Ice cream,” he smiles holding out the sugar cone, light pink peppered with bright red, “you should have come up, they mix the strawberries in right there it was really cool.”

He’s stuffed, Yoosung has been bringing him treats all day.  Crepes and pastries, a spicy salad of flowers and berries, drinks, and sweets, he couldn’t eat another bite but he reaches out and takes the cone from him as someone calls from the middle of the crowd.  He watches his boyfriend disappear back into the heard of Kims. 

Shorter than most of them, blond hair barely visible in the sea of black and brown.

He turns to Yoosung’s niece and holds out the cone and watches her eyes wide as she searches his face for permission.  “It’s ok,” he says, trying to sound encouraging, “I think your uncle wants to watch me explode, you should eat this.”

She reaches out with a timid glance towards the crowd, he wonders if she’s worried about being caught by her mother and pushes back a memory from his own terrible youth, of ice cream and Saeyoung, and an awful beating.  The Kim’s weren’t like his mother, even if she wasn’t allowed the treat he would get the scolding for giving it to her, and it would be light teasing words nothing lasting.

Three hours in the Kims begin to disperse, the cousins with the youngest children bow out first, aunts and uncles only here for grandchildren excuse themselves, having no reason left to stay, Yoosung’s parents leave with Yuna and her little family, his sticky partner in crime lifted up and away.  A soft smile and a quite _bye_ over her father’s shoulder.

“Saeran likes babies,” Yoosung whispers, teasing him as he wraps himself around Saeran’s arm.

“Fuck off,” Saeran laughs, pulling him closer.

It’s a short train ride home, the festival being between the city and his parents house, and Saeran doesn’t realize how tired he is until Yoosung is gently shaking him awake.  He’s still wearing Yoosung’s hoodie but as his eyes focus he notices his boyfriend has pulled on the loose sweater he’d forgotten in his parent’s car.  A lazy smile spreads across his face as the train stammers to a stop and he pulls Yoosung into a clumsy kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he says it softly, as they gather their things; Yoosung’s bag, a basket of fresh berries, a jar of handmade jam in a decorated paper bag.

Yoosung smiles. “It’s ok, no one even noticed they just think your shy.”

“Still—”

“Besides,” Yoosung pulls him close in the pressing crowd exiting the train, “it’s nice to take care of you sometimes.”

Saeran laughs.  “I know you don’t think so but you take care of me all the fucking time.”

“You’re a liar,” Yoosung says blushing.

But they both know it’s true.  Saeran might be the one to remind him to eat when he’s studying or gaming, he might be the one to suggest they go for a walk, or wake him up when his alarm wails unsuccessfully, but Yoosung had saved his life.

An obsession at first that kept him useful, and then an aspiration.  His brother had drug him out of hell kicking and screaming but Yoosung Kim had kept him here, the physical manifestation of forgiveness.  Something about those kind purple eyes and they way the tears had spilled over him when he’d seen the bandages on his wrists, he’d never wanted to cause him pain again.

Saeran had never thought he’d ever be here.  Watching from the wings, the delegated third wheel had been all he’d hoped for and yet, Yoosung Kim had loved him back.  An afternoon uncomfortable at a strawberry festival and an extra Xanax had seemed like a small sacrifice in comparison.


	3. Day One: First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is a little more nsfw than the others? Violence, suicide and mildly sexual warnings?

He was expecting them and _he_ would deliver them to Savior.  She had expected it, the little pot of ointment sitting near his keyboard when he came back from Communion had made that clear.  Her little Peach was too quickly accustomed to having a name, to being a person.  She may still be feeding him the information he needed but he could tell she had reservations.

She was starting to learn how Savior worked, and she didn’t like it.

[Peach]: Incoming ETA unknown, Luciel and Yoosung.  
[Unknown]: Maintain cover, continue with the party unless you hear otherwise.  
[Peach]: There’s not really a bomb right?  
[Peach]: She didn’t know about it right?  
[Peach]:Right?

Not much good going to school had done her, she couldn’t even see how expendable she was.  Once he would have told her as much, he’d even _felt bad_ when she cried.  Savior had never hurt her, but she would make her watch while she beat him.  She would make her watch while he was rewarded. 

Rewards were chosen at Saviors discretion and to her tastes, whether he liked them or not, sometimes they were worse than the punishments.  But not this time, not the boy with the purple eyes.

It’s not the chance to break him that has Saeran so excited, he’s been watching him so long that he knows how easy it will be, how close to broken that deceptive smile already is.  He’s excited to have a pet.  The sad dog makes him sick but to have his own, he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity like Savior had.

He wouldn’t make Yoosung Kim into his own sad dog, he would have a loyal puppy, a guard dog, a companion.

He watches them in Luciel’s ridiculous car, not so stupid as to park in the driveway but close enough so make him scoff.  This man had ruined his life, had abandoned him to become a secret agent and he couldn’t even disguise his approach.  He watches Luciel leave the boy with the car, he knows what he’ll do and he lets him, he’s already accounted for it, the Castle is ready.

He watches Luciel smile, his success assumed from the start, as he makes his way back to the boy.  He watches as they make their way through empty halls only mildly suspicious, and he watches as they enter the server room, practically cheering on their impending success.

Luciel lies.  Luciel lies _so much_ he believes them and Saeran can’t help but question everything he’s known, just for a split second, just because he _knows_ Savior lies too, when it serves her purpose.  But it doesn’t matter, if there was truth to it none of it matters anymore.  That boy is dead, there is only him and he is nothing, he is no one, he is unknown.

They run. Luciel is so good at running, practiced.  He doesn’t even notice when the pretty puppy isn’t right behind him.  He smiles, holding the boy by the collar so he has to watch the man he thought was his friend get in his car alone.

Lavender eyes wide while he gasps for air.

“He’ll come back for me,” Yoosung says with more confidence that he’d thought the boy had left.

“That’s what he always says,” he snorts.  “Will you try to run if I let you go?”

“I—”

He twists his collar choking him just enough to make him sputter and cough.  “Don’t lie now, I still have to decide what to do with you.”

“Y-yes,” Yoosung sputters, “of-of course!”

“ _Good boy_ ,” he coos.  Hands grasp at his wrists but there’s no effort to push him off, despite the fact that he has to drag his new pup along behind him.  He hits a few keys, displaying the CCTV feed from Saviors apartment on the screen in front of his new puppy.

“J-Jisu,” Yoosung says quietly, “you’re not going to-to hurt her, right?”

“Hmmm,” he digs in his drawer, he had a plain nylon collar somewhere, something left from his practice pets, some of Savior’s better rewards. “You should worry more about me,” he smiles, pressing the boy to sit on his stool.

He presses himself against Yoosung, wild green eyes even with the wide terrified lavender ones as he pulls the nylon to it’s full length and snakes it in-between his wrists and the length of the stool.

“Do wh-whatever you want t-to me but you c-can’t hurt her, ok?”

Yes, he’d watched the little Peach turn this little abandoned puppy into her guard dog in less than a week.  If he’d been called to Paradise to replace his brother than Peach had been called to replace Yoosung Kim and the lost puppy had seen his former master in the little Peach.

He laughs when he slaps him, the way Savior would when he asked too much. He watches the start of a bruise blossom, the skin split, the trickle of blood from his mouth.  Did he look this sweet when he bled?

“I told you,” he snaps his fingers, he can feel his voice pitched with barely contained excitement, “it’s me you should worry about, she’s done her part but I have you now.”

He can smell the fear on him, a proper puppy might have wet himself by now, but he knew this dog had a bite.  He can see it there behind his wide eyes.  The cornered puppy was ready to bite back. 

He gather’s the little pot, the gift from savior and starts to spread it on his fingers, well aware of the image he presents as his new toy cowers. “What are you going to do to me?”  Yoosung whispers.

“Don’t worry pet,” he smirks, he knows his voice is wild, and frantic and he can’t suppress the manic laughter that bubbles out of his throat.

The first scream Yoosung lets out has him hard, straining at his jeans to press against the pretty puppy’s thigh while he drags his nails across the tender flesh.  He runs the flat of his tongue along that pretty, damp cheek to catch his tears before he pries his eye open.

Yoosung’s wails and choked sobs are music, sweeter than any soft sigh or satisfied moan.  He could cum just from the sound of them he considers, pressing himself harder against the stricken boy’s thigh, as he digs his fingers into his eye.  The glorious sight of tears and gore running down his cheek is a sight to remember.

He presses a light kiss to his other cheek and takes a step back to gather his phone.  A photo to remember it by.

That’s when the door swung open, that’s when the sad dog was pushing past unfamiliar faces to take his new toy away, his puppy, his prize.

*

Saeyoung is babbling in front of him.  It’s been months since the castle in the mountains.  He knows he’s not that person anymore and after his last stint in the hospital he’s mostly aware that he doesn’t want to go back, that he wants to be, something, not that person.

He’d seen them at a distance since then, since that day when everything had changed and the Sad Dog had turned on them and drug them out of Paradise.  On good days he can recognise the lies in his memories, believe his brother when he tells him what’s real and what’s fake.  On good days he knows the scared boy in the hall isn’t real.  On good days he knows he’s not the monster under his bed.

“I can tell them to go,” Saeyoung is saying.  He’s been standing there squinting into the dark for so long that Saeran can’t remember exactly who he’s talking about.  “I’m sure they’ll understand it’s just, she worries about you, you know?”

He shrugs, remembering, Jisu was here, they had names now, he wasn’t unknown and she wasn’t the peach, they were Jisu and Saeran and they were people.  “Yeah, in a minute.”

His brother nods, the hint of a smile on his face as he turns from the doorway.  Saeran reaches for his sweater but stops.  What was the point of covering the dirty gauze at his wrists, they knew.  Everyone knew.   Maybe it would make them cry, maybe he could see something in their eyes that might remind him how he was supposed to feel.

He’s reminded how awkward it is to see her now.  Now that she wasn’t bait, now that they weren’t trying to save each other, now that they weren’t competing to live.  She reaches out a hand and carefully runs it over his shoulder, the one without the tattoo, without the permanent reminder.  His brother had offered, and then Jumin Han had also, to have it covered or removed but he didn’t want to.  Not yet, maybe not ever.

If he was going to live with what he’d done, he wasn’t going to forget.

“Hi,” he’s standing just behind everyone with a bundle in his arms.  Smiling through bright red glasses, not a hint of fear in his mismatched purple eyes.

Jisu and Saeyoung stand a little firmer than they need to as he pushes in between them holding the box out in front of him.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” he’s blushing.  Yoosung isn’t pale with fear, not shaking or nervous around the man who tried to blind him and turn him into a pet, he’s just nervous.  Nervous around a new person.  “I got one of everything, so I hope you can find something you like.”

Seran reaches out, carefully like it might be a trap, like any moment Savior would slap the box of still warm pastries from his hand and force him to do something terrible.  Something he might have wanted to do once, but not now.

“I-I uh, thank you,” he forces himself to say.  This would be easier if there wasn’t an audience.  If Saeyoung and perfect Jisu who’d freed herself weren’t watching on and judging his reactions.

That bright smile, more real now than Saeran remembers over the monitors.  Not forced or hiding just happy, just for him.  He can feel Saeyoung and Jisu relax and he puts the box on the nearest table without even looking into it. 

Yoosung is already on the couch, remote in hand pulling something up on the television and Jisu and Saeyoung are moving into the computer room, he suspects there is party business to discuss.  The next one was soon, he also suspects from the sheepish way Yoosung is smiling that he invited himself along.

“What do you like to watch?” He asks, watching him over the back of the couch. 

Saeran shrugs, and moves to stand near the couch but he can’t bring himself to sit down on it.

“Well what don’t you like?” Yoosung tries.

“That stupid sponge guy cartoon,” Saeran says without thinking and Yoosung laughs.  His heart presses against his ribs and he tries desperately to think of some way to keep him laughing.

“OK,” Yoosung nods.

He finds something stupid, a drama or something that Saeran wouldn’t have chosen in a million years but he’s not watching it, he’s watching Yoosung Kim.  Sitting on his brother’s filthy sofa watching TV next to him.  Next to the person who tried to hurt him, who definitely would have killed his girlfriend, and countless others in that building had the opportunity arose, who’d shot a man.  None of it even six months ago.

He’s not sure when his hands had started shaking.

“Are you ok, Saeran?”  Yoosung asks and those lavender eyes are _worried_ for him.  Even the dull one he’d almost taken.

“I, uh I’m—Why aren’t you afraid of me?” He blurts out.  He needs to know, it won’t make a difference, he could feel the pressure building in his guts, the floating feeling that came before.

“I didn’t think I needed to be,” Yoosung says carefully.

“I tried to hurt you,” he says unable to stop himself.

Yoosung shrugs and moves closer to him. “That wasn’t _you_ ,” he says with conviction.

Saeran snorts, even as he feels his knees buckle.  He can see Yoosung vault over the couch as he starts to crumple.  He babbles, he’s not sure either of them even know what he says, sitting crumpled on the floor with Yoosung’s arms around him. 

His brother had stopped him once, and he’d mostly just been biding his time.  There was no real reason to go on, but no real reason to rush to die.  No real way he could be anything good after everything he’d done.  Not as far as he could see, and how could he see any differently when Saeyoung always looked to worried, when Jisu looked so guarded.  When she’d assimilated to being a person so completely and he was somewhere in between.

But this boy, this _person_ he’d wanted to hurt.  This person he’d wanted to own, looked at him like he was something else, like he was already real, already good.  He could feel the worried tears from Yoosung’s damaged eyes soaking through his hair and despite all the things he’d done.  The thing’s he’d done and wanted to do to Yoosung alone.

Yoosung Kim would be sad if he died.

 


End file.
